Happy Song
by DeusBex
Summary: Marinette helps Adrien turn punk.
It was autumn. Frost covered the landscape in a thin, translucent layer of white, which somehow reminded Marinette of flour spread across the bakery's worktop. It was, after all, a familiar sight and only natural for a baker's daughter to draw such comparisons as often as she did. Trapped in her baking-induced reverie, leaves crunched underfoot: a melange of beautiful oranges and yellows that rivalled the morning's sunrise. She slowly walked to school, encapsulated as always by the beauty of the city for which she had become protector. Across the street, tourist couples cooed at the so-called 'city of love' in all its autumnal beauty as they made their way towards the Eiffel Tower. The shop windows were frosted too, much like the ground, but that didn't stop children staring wide-eyed at the latest toys and gadgets. It was so idyllic, yet so fragile, and Marinette knew better than anyone the constant danger which her home was in.

"There was another akuma last night," began Alya, appearing suddenly from around a street corner to join Marinette. They often walked to school together; they'd been best friends since the start of the academic year, although anyone else could easily mistake it for longer. "It was so cool! There was this giant... and Ladybug... Chat Noir... leapt into the air... fire..."

Marinette zoned in and out of Alya's spiel. After all, there was only so many times that she could remain interested in accounts of her own battles. Somewhat ironically, she was perhaps the only person in all of Paris - no, in all of the world - who knew more about Ladybug than Alya Césaire. The brown-skinned girl spoke with joviality, eyes widening at the mere mention of some exciting detail, but all the while Marinette's mind drifted elsewhere.

It drifted to the gutter, where it so often resided with its sinful thoughts of her classmate and crush: Adrien Agreste. He was perfect, from his kindness to his intelligence, and then there was his body. She dreamed of his green eyes, which glistened like emeralds under sunlight, and the smile that revealed a set of pearly whites. She spent far too long wondering how said green eyes would look, staring at her with wonderment and lust, or how she might one day be the cause of such a heart-warming smile. Rather mischievously, her thoughts did not stop there either. She thought about his hands, how soft they felt whenever he so happened to pass her a pen or sheet of paper in class, and how they might feel entwined around her own. She thought about his broad shoulders, what might be revealed if she were to undress him, first his shirt and then his...

"Marinette! Marinette," waved Alya in front of her eyes. "Are you even paying attention, girl?"

"Yes! I wa-"

"Sorry," came an exasperated apology from none other than the Adrien Agreste, barging past the two girls to run up the school steps which now lay before them. Marinette had been so busy daydreaming that she hadn't even realised they'd arrived, but now her mind was firmly fixed upon her crush. Something was wrong. Adrien was never impolite, never barged past people, and certainly not without stopping to apologise for a whole five minutes afterwards. He was the very image of a gentleman, after all. There was a tone in his voice, something which betrayed his attempts to hide sadness, and it made Marinette's heart ache with unbridled sympathy.

"What's wrong with Adrien?"

 **. . .**

Classes began promptly at nine o'clock and, whilst Marinette feared strict Ms Mendeleiev's wrath in a way that not even the most monstrous akumas could compare, that still left a few minutes in which she could worriedly search for her crush. She was incredibly concerned - not just because it was Adrien either. Marinette was a deeply considerate person, the kind who had time for everyone (apart from Chloé of course), and as Ladybug she knew better than anyone the dangers which negative emotions could provoke. Hawk Moth lurked in the Paris' shadows, waiting to lure the vulnerable into doing his bidding, and the thought of an akuma latching itself onto poor Adrien frightened her especially. Even if he wouldn't ultimately remember it or feel a thing, the thought of having to fight the love of her life was painful.

The two girls began searching: classrooms, the canteen, and finally the library. It was an old room, but thankfully in a way that gave it character - not decrepitude. Stacks upon stacks of books, some dusty from years of disuse and others contrastingly worn from overuse, were crammed into every shelf-space available. After many years, the library was certainly overdue an extension. However, it's relatively small size made for a quick search. As the two girls entered, they were greeted with the faint yet unmistakeable sound of sobbing.

"Adrien," called Alya, frantically looking for the boy with a growing worry which was even beginning to rival Marinette's own. "Adrien, you in here?"

"Go away," came the muffled sobs of the young Agreste, which they followed to find him sat underneath a desk. He rested his back against one of its legs, tucked his knees neatly into his chest, and rested his head upon them as he tried but failed to hold back tears. "Please... Just go..."

"Adrien," began Marinette, temporarily misplacing her nerves around him as concern and worry began to outweigh any fear of embarrassment. "What's wrong?"

"My father," he spat, halfway between crying and shouting in anger. Tears rolled down his cheeks, which were reddened in a way that would have been adorable if not for his upset demeanour. Meanwhile, his hair was ruffled and his shirt creased. It was shocking to see the usually calm and sweet Adrien in such a state. "He... He blew me off, again..."

 **. . .**

Sadly, as much as Marinette yearned for answers, the bell soon tolled for lessons and she filed in with her peers for Physics: a subject which she hated with almost as much passion as she loved fashion design. It didn't matter though; her mind was elsewhere - not on the lesson. Instead of electrical circuits, she studied the back of Adrien's head, the uncharacteristically messy hair, and his drooped shoulders. Everything about him just screamed of hurt emotions.

"Resistance is measured in ohms," began Ms Mendeleiev. "It can be calculated from the potential difference across a component and the current flowing through it. The total resistance of a series circuit is the sum of the resistances of the components in the circuit."

"Psst," whispered Alya, jabbing Marinette in the side and tossing a crumpled piece of paper, which she immediately set about unfolding to reveal a hastily written note. It said to meet outside the Agreste manor that evening.

"An electric current flows when electrons move through a conductor, such as a metal wire. The moving electrons can collide with the ions in the metal. This makes it more difficult for the current to flow, and causes resistance."

Whatever Alya had planned, it involved spending an evening with Adrien and the mere thought alone terrified her. What was she going to do? If Adrien saw how clumsy she was, how she was intoxicated like a drunkard around him, then she was certain he'd never want to talk to her - much less one day marry and have three kids, as she had so often daydreamed about before.

"Now, potential difference is often called voltage. It is also known as electromotive force. A potential difference across an electrical component is needed to make an electric current flow in it. Cells or batteries often provide the potential difference needed."

 **. . .**

Marinette had never felt so nervous in her life - not even on her first day of the job as Ladybug. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead, which she wiped with a shaking hand as she paced back and forward outside the Agreste manor. It was a large, luxurious building situated just a few blocks away from the Eiffel Tower, but that was not what intimidated her. Rather, it was the fast approaching blond boy and her mischievous best friend, suspiciously carrying a bag of clothes.

"Hey, Marinette," beamed Adrien, flashing a somewhat forced but nevertheless heart-warming smile. He was still undeniably upset, yet whatever Alya had done was clearly working, and that put Marinette at some ease. It appeared that the threat of an akuma was gone.

"Nino and I wanted to help Adrien get some revenge on his father, and what better way than to ruin those model looks? We figured you, what with all your fashion knowledge, would be the best person to help Adrien dye his hair," beamed Alya, casting a knowing smile and a discreet wink in Marinette's direction. "Anyway, I've got to go. My parents want me home. Later!"

Before Marinette could protest, however, her best friend was running down the road and she was left alone with none other than Adrien Agreste. Her knees wobbled, her heart stopped, and unintentionally her eyes met his.

"I... Uh... I really don't know anything about your hair... I don't know anything about dying... Hair, that is! Not death... I mean, I've never dyed my hair before..."

"That's fine," smiled Adrien. "An extra pair of hands will still be helpful."

 **. . .**

"Wow," murmured Marinette quietly to herself as she entered Adrien's room, only to be greeted with a view of the Parisian skyline through the large windows which completely engulfed one of the four walls. Outside, almost within touching distance, the Eiffel Tower stood in all its beautiful might and it made Marinette's romantic mind swoon over the possibilities. How she wished that Adrien and her could visit the Eiffel Tower, walk by the river, and best of all hold hands.

"I know it's a little... extravagant," interrupted Adrien, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. It was adorable.

"No! You're awesome! I mean, it's awesome! So, um, what are we doing exactly?"

Adrien turned to face the wall parallel to the windows, along which ran a bed, a rock climbing wall, and a computer. He clicked the mouse a few times, typed in something, and before Marinette could question speakers began to blare out a song.

"S-P-I-R-I-T, spirit, let's hear it. S-P-I-R-I-T, spirit, let's hear it. Let's go! I've had enough, there's a voice in my head, says I'm better off dead."

"I want to look like those guys... Punk..."

"But won't your father be mad?"

"I don't care. So... Will you help?"

Marinette nodded. In all honesty, she'd probably be willing to walk off a cliff for this boy - let alone help him dye his hair. She reached into the bag of clothes, atop which sat a bottle of green hair dye, and a small pamphlet of instructions.

"Warning: stains permanently. Avoid contact with clothes," she began reading. "Do you have a towel or something?"

Suddenly, and to the disbelief of Marinette, Adrien reached under the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Was she dreaming? Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare torso: the defined abs, the broad shoulders, and the thin line of hair which ran teasingly from his navel down into his jeans. Discreetly pinching herself, she was most definitely not dreaming.

"It'll probably be easier if I just take my shirt off. You don't mind, do you?"

"No... No... I don't mind!"

 **. . .**

Adrien stepped underneath the shower, rinsing the messy dye from his back and sighing contently as the cool water ran down his body. It felt good, really good. For the first time in his life, he'd made a decision for himself - not his father. To others dying your hair was perhaps a trivial decision, but for Adrien it was everything. It was freedom, power over his own life, and happiness. So much happiness, he felt he might explode like a piñata.

Marinette said she would see herself out as he showered, yet for some reason that upset him. She was no Ladybug, that much was for sure, but Adrien would be lying to himself if he said she wasn't his type: kind, caring, principled, and cute - so cute. After all the help, he at the very least owed her thanks.

The tap squeaked upon turning, the water stopping almost instantly, and Adrien stepped out of the shower to grab a towel which he wrapped around his hips. He studied himself in the mirror. Although his hair was still wet, and at a length like his it would take a fair while to dry completely, the dye already looked great. The fluorescent green was vibrant and, in a rather ironic way, fitting for his alter ego too. Sighing contently, he opened the door and stepped out into his room.

"Gah! Adrien," scrambled Marinette, quickly snatching her phone from the nearby coffee table and thrusting it into her back pocket before beelining for the door. "Sorry! Oh my God! I just came back for my phone."

"Wait!"

She stopped in her tracks, deadly still like a statue, and span around on the spot to face him. All the while, her gaze avoided his bare, wet torso.

"I never said thanks," he began, smiling awkwardly. Perhaps it was the new-found confidence of having made a decision for himself or perhaps it was just teenage hormones, the thrill of a cute girl seeing him near nude, but the following words slipped from his mouth with little to no thought whatsoever. "You can look."

 **. . .**

Marinette could feel herself blushing, her face reddening like a ripened tomato, and in front of her crush that only heightened her embarrassment. But was she hearing correctly? Had a shirtless, wet Adrien Agreste just tried to flirt with her? He had, after all, told her that she can look at his near naked body, which was gorgeous to say the least - even better wet than it had been earlier dry. The glistening water only accentuated his defined abs, the striations in his pectoral muscles, and the obliques that ran tantalisingly down into the towel. It was well-known at school that Adrien led a busy life and, being a model, everyone would naturally presume him to be slim and health. However, he was more than that; he was ripped.

"Are... Are you... Are you flirting with me?"

He nodded and, somehow through the nervousness, the pair found themselves approaching each other. Slow and cautious, like deer in the headlamps of a car, but with an eager undertone that showed such thoughts had been on their minds. Within mere seconds, Marinette's tongue was exploring his mouth. Her hands were wandering, first exploring his broad back, and then drifting southwards to tease his hips where the towel began.

"Fuck," groaned Adrien, a low but pleasurable moan emanating from the back of his throat, as he felt himself instantly harden at her touch. He surrendered his attempts to keep the towel on his hips, letting it fall slowly to the floor, as he himself stepped backwards and fell gracefully onto his bed.

Marinette, meanwhile, was shocked. Her mouth was agape. Of all the things she expected, something of that size was not one of them. Despite no prior experience, she found herself instinctively dropping atop of him to feel the throbbing organ against her still clothed crotch. With every squirm of her hips, she solicited an even greater moan from the green-haired boy. It wasn't long before the room was filled with a chorus of deep, pleasurable groans and moans as the pair acted out their wildest fantasies.

Adrien Agreste was finally hers, and all it took was some punk music. It really was a happy song after all!


End file.
